Chapter 17
“You wear black so well, my darling.”
Bridget looked up from her untouched plate of dinner, her body growing tense as she found Victor standing behind Warren’s chair at the head of the table.
Seeing him made the knot in her stomach grow worse.
She had been trying her best to avoid him since he had moved into the estate, but it seemed no matter where she went, he was always there.
Her rooms had been her only place of solace, but since Warren’s funeral was today, and her home had been filled with socialites offering their condolences, she had been exhausted.
Once they had all departed and her home was blissfully quiet again, she had slouched into a chair in the dining room and allowed Mona to fetch her a plate—the first she would have eaten all day.
“It is not about looking well,” she replied, drawing her napkin from her lap as she gave up on the idea of eating. “It is about paying my respects to the dead.”
She stood from her chair, drawing on her newfound strength to speak up for herself.
“And please, do not call me darling. It is most inappropriate.”
Victor’s brows drew up in surprise at her calm insistence.
“You seem much changed, Bridget,” he stated, his eyes slowly moving down her person. “I had thought that your marriage to my brother was one of convenience, but clearly his death has affected you personally.”
Bridget’s spine ached with how quickly she stiffened. No one but Adrian would know how much she had changed and how she had done so before the news that she was a widow.
She had struggled those first two days since Warren’s death, trying to reach into the depths of her emotions to find the ability to mourn for the loss of her husband. The harsh truth, however, was that she felt nothing but relief. She was free.
Though she did not know what that meant for her financially, what she did know was that where there had been scathing judgment from her peers, there was now only pity. Thus, not only was she free from her loveless marriage, but she was now free from the humiliation of the ton.
“I must kindly insist that you do not make any assumptions regarding me, Victor,” she insisted. “I have been troubled by the assumptions of others for far too long.”
A look almost resembling pity hovered in Victor’s eyes, and he nodded.
“Rest assured, Bridget, that if you accept my proposal, you will never need to worry about another’s assumptions. It would be clear to all how I felt for you. I love my brother, and I will miss him, but I will never understand how he did not see that you are a charming woman.”
Bridget was startled by his kind words. When he had first brought up the idea of their marriage, he had spoken only on the practicality of such a union.
Of course, there were the embraces that lasted far too long.
The lingering looks that made her skin crawl.
However, up until now, he had spoken only about the practicality of marriage.
“I thank you for your… interesting point of view, Victor. However, my decision still stands. I am declining your offer. Respectfully, of course.”
Victor’s eyes darkened as his grip on the chair visibly tightened.
“You are still grieving. You have not given yourself time to truly consider my offer yet,” he said, his voice more grating than before.
“A day. A week. A year. My answer will still be the same,” she answered, drawing on her newfound strength. “My answer is no.”
She swept her hands down her black skirts, as if brushing away not just the conversation, but her time in the estate.
“You do not know what you are refusing, Bridget. What will become of you? A childless widow has no place in this world but by her late husband’s family.”
“I fully understand what my circumstances mean. I will make arrangements to find somewhere else to live as soon as possible. The estate, of course, is rightfully yours, and I have no interest in contradicting that fact.”
She turned toward the double doors, done with the conversation, but she was barely able to take a few steps before she felt Victor’s tight grip painfully settle around her upper arm. Bridget tried to wrench away immediately, but Victor spun her to face him.
“Let go of me!” she demanded, fear starting to eat away at her bravery.
“You seem to think you actually have a choice here, Bridget,” Victor stated, the anger in his eyes apparent as he gazed down at her.
“You were more or less sold to my brother by your guardians, and you are a fool if you think they would take you back after ignoring you for so many years. You are nothing but a chip in a game of poker, my dear. It will do you a great service if you finally accept that.”
Half frightened, half-enraged, and entirely insulted, Bridget shoved her hands into Victor’s chest at the same time as she brought her knee up into his groin. She made contact with both, and her arm sang in relief as Victor’s grip dissolved, and he went to the floor with a grunt.
“Leave me alone, Victor.”
Bridget ran, throwing open the double doors of the dining room to escape.
It was the first time she missed the flock of servants that ran the household, most of whom had been let go since Warren’s passing.
Eva and Mona had refused to be dismissed, as did Mr. Conway and Farley. Everyone else, though, was gone.
Bridget fled toward the foyer, hoping she had enough time to make it up the stairs and lock herself in her quarters. Then pain screamed through her head as she felt her hair being clenched by a fist, and she was forced backward.
She screamed, dazed by the pain in her head and shoulders as she was slammed into a wall.
Victor’s panting breath filled her ears as he blocked her in, pinning her to the wall with his body. His eyes were wide and wild and filled with vengeance as he glared down at her.
“You will regret that, Bridget,” he panted. “My brother might not have taught you manners, but rest assured, I will.”
Bridget opened her mouth to scream for help, but before she could let out a sound, Victor was shoved away from her.
Sounds of fists hitting flesh erupted into the air as Bridget stood still for a moment, dazed and frightened.
Mr. Conway appeared in front of her, the wrinkles around his eyes creased with worry as he said something she could not quite hear.
Then suddenly everything came into reality.
“My lady, are you all right? Are you hurt?” Mr. Conway begged her to answer.
Panting and terrified, Bridget drew her eyes to the scuffle taking place on the floor.
Adrian, whom she had not seen since the night he had left her at the inn in Alfriston, was atop Victor, had his hand wrapped around Victor’s shirt collar, and was throwing another punch into the man’s face with the other.
She watched as Victor’s head snapped back from the force of the hit, followed by a snarl of rage.
“Adrian,” she whispered, unable to believe it.
“Who in the devil are you?” Victor growled.
Adrian was not looking at him anymore, though.
It was as if he had heard Bridget’s whisper, and he was now looking at her, his piercing blue eyes shining with both rage and worry.
He slammed Victor down before getting up, and as he drew closer to her, Bridget could see his hands shaking.
He held them up to her face, as if he was going to caress her cheek, then at the last second thought better of it as his eyes surveyed her face and body.
“Did he hurt you, Bridget?” Adrian said with a shaking breath. “I need you to tell me.”
It took Bridget a moment, still stunned as she was by all that had just unfolded, but eventually she shook her head as her rapid breaths began to slow.
“No, I…” she rasped, then licked her parched lips as her eyes darted from Victor to Adrian. “I am all right now.”
Adrian let out a groan as he bowed his head, his raven locks tickling her lips.
“Thank God,” he groaned.
“Answer me!” Victor yelled as he rose on shaky feet behind Adrian. “Who the devil are you, and how did you get in? Mr. Conway! Apprehend him at once! Have Farley call the constable!”
“I am afraid I cannot do that, my lord,” Mr. Conway answered as Adrian and Bridget still stared at one another. “I work for the lady of the house. Not you.”
“You are sure you are all right?” Adrian whispered, looking imploringly at Bridget.
She closed her eyes and nodded her head, wanting nothing more than the awful night to be over.
“I am Adrian Mason, the Duke of Redgrave,” Adrian stated, then turned to Victor. “And I am here to collect my duchess.”
Bridget’s eyes flew open, her world spinning all over again with Adrian’s words.
“Your duchess?” Victor spat out. “Oh no. I have inherited the entirety of my brother’s property, including his wife. That woman is mine!”
“She is no one’s property,” Adrian snarled back, taking an intimidating step toward Victor.
To Bridget’s delight, the man shrank from Adrian’s imposing posture.
“And if you value your life, you will keep your hands and your thoughts to yourself,” Adrian directed.
Victor glared over Adrian’s shoulder at Bridget, and though he looked enraged, he kept his lips firmly pressed together, not breathing another word. She glared at him and pushed herself away from the wall, not just to show him but to show herself that she would not be forced into any place.
Adrian turned around then, his handsome features a little less intimidating than before, and he stretched out his hand.
“Bridget, come with me,” he gently implored. “Let us get you outside in the fresh air.”
Her eyes flicked toward Victor, but Adrian stepped into her view, blocking him.
“Do not worry about him,” Adrian assured, still holding his hand out. “He will not dare touch you ever again.”
Though more confused than ever, Bridget slid her hand into Adrian’s, feeling that usual spark that ignited in her veins whenever they touched, and she let him lead her outside.
“You have gone mad,” she said as they made it out to the front lawn.
“Maybe so,” Adrian acknowledged. “But thank God I arrived when I did. If I had not, God knows… I would have—”
He stopped speaking as a look of desperation took over his features.
Bridget drew in a deep breath of the cool night air, trying to regain some control over her frenzied senses.
“Adrian, I am thankful that you came when you did,” she insisted.
“But I am so very confused! The last time I saw you was in our room at the inn in Alfriston. We shared so very much with one another. Yet when I awoke the next morning, you disappeared without a word! And now you reappear, stating that I am to be your duchess, your wife?”
“I know,” Adrian insisted, running a hand through his disheveled dark hair. “I know I have much explaining to do, but I—”
“You certainly do,” Bridget cut him off. “How could you lie like that? The rumors around my husband and me have just died, and such a proposal will only force me into a scandalous state all over again! Do you not realize how improper it would be to marry again while still in the mourning period?”
“It is not a lie. And whether it be improper or not, you need protection, Bridget,” Adrian countered, looking half-crazed. “From him. From men like him. You cannot believe that a woman like you may remain a widow for long before they come to you like vultures.”
“Why not?” she desperately demanded. She had been so very close to her freedom, and now even the man she was coming to like was trying to take it away. The world felt too small, too suffocating to tolerate.
“Because of who you are!” Adrian exclaimed, waving a hand toward her. “Do you not understand that you are the epitome of a perfect wife for most gentlemen? You are beautiful, you are kind, you have an understanding nature about you that most would not dare attempt to comprehend.”
His answer stunned her into silence. In the dim light of the outdoor oil lamps, she watched as Adrian fought to regain his composure. He rubbed his face, dragged his hand through his hair, then finally straightened his black brocade waistcoat that fit perfectly, as always, around his muscular form.
“I cannot leave you here with that man,” he said, much calmer than before as he pointed toward the house.
“Nor can I leave you to the likes of him. I am asking you, Bridget, please, to accept my proposal and leave this place. I will not be blamed for what I do to him if he tries to touch you like that again.”
Emotion welled in Bridget’s throat, threatening to suffocate her. It was not that she wanted to go back inside with Victor. It was that, yet again, her choices were stripped away from her.
“You do not understand what you are asking me to do,” she whispered as tears welled in her eyes.
“Perhaps not,” Adrian agreed, “But what I do understand is that I will never treat you the way that man just did. You deserve respect, kindness, and protection, Bridget, and I swear that I will do everything I can to keep you safe and happy.”
A small tendril of relief wound its way from Bridget’s heart, but it did little to soothe the ache in her chest. As much as she did not want to admit it, and as much as she did not believe that she would have a loving marriage, she knew Adrian was right.